


some eloquent grafitti

by havisham



Category: DCU, Nightwing (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Bad Puns, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Underage Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick tries to be a good big brother, Jason tries to survive adolescence. They both fail, kind of miserably. But not to worry -- some chances come around again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some eloquent grafitti

**Author's Note:**

> **Contains:** References to (hypothetical) underage relationships, references to past canonical character death, snow puns, violence as a tool for bonding, clumsy pop culture references, emotional incest, dark vengeance on skis, people who are stupid about their feelings, Robinsexuality.

_And then they went on to say that the Pearly Gates  
Had some eloquent graffiti  
Like 'We'll meet again' and 'Fuck the man'  
And 'Tell my mother not to worry'_

**I.**  

Dick tries. He tries to be a good big brother. He drives to Gotham and down the winding driveway up to Wayne Manor. The door swings open, and Alfred is there, looking — distressed. 

“He’s ready?” Dick doesn’t want to sound nervous, and if he licks his lips, it’s because they’re drying in the cold winter air. Alfred nods, looking improbably severe in the pink bunny earmuffs Dick sent him for Christmas. They wait outside for Jason. 

Jason takes his goddamn time, issuing forth from the Manor with a dozen curses on his lips. Dick twitches. Alfred remains impassive. 

“This is _stupid_ ,” Jason says, shoving his duffle bag into Dick’s general direction before stomping off to the front passenger seat. He doesn’t wait for Dick to open the door or anything. He closes the door with a slam and sits shotgun, glowering at Dick and Alfred, who linger outside. 

Dick puts Jason’s bag into the trunk. He looks back at the manor, and blows out a gust of white vapor. Bruce doesn’t come out. And it’s not like Dick expects him to be — well, gracious, or whatever thing you’re supposed do with former wards/partners, but... 

Alfred grips his hand, and says goodbye.

\+ 

The drive upstate is quiet. Jason roots around the glove compartment, and fishes out a few cassettes from deep within its recesses. “ _We don’t have to take our clothes off?_ You listen to this shit?” And he leers at Dick like that’s in any way appropriate. 

Jason is fifteen, Dick reminds himself, and technically still a kid. (Though you wouldn’t know it to look at him. Jason is built and could be, really, any age from seventeen to twenty-three. Dick doesn’t know what Bruce feeds him.) Dick knows that this age can be difficult. 

(He remembers being doubled over, his cape too short to hide _anything_ , and Babs — _Batgirl_ — snickering next to him.) 

Dick’s knuckles show white on steering wheel. His voice is strained when he says, “No, that’s Wally’s.” 

“Your friend that runs everywhere. That Wally.” 

“Yup. That Wally.” 

Jason rolls his eyes to the back of his head and Dick catches himself hoping that they’ll stick somehow. 

\+ 

This is supposed to be a _bonding_ experience. A weekend skiing in the Adirondacks, hot chocolate at the lodge, maybe some talk about how to deal with Bruce, that’s what Dick wants, that’s what he expects. 

Except Jason doesn’t want to do any of that. 

Except Jason would rather lock himself up in his room and play MTV loudly until dinner time, which he doesn’t go down for, no matter how much Dick begs from the other side of the door.

Dick doesn’t even want to think about how much Jason’s raiding of the minibar is going to add up to. Good thing Bruce is the one who’s footing the bill. 

The next morning, Jason finally emerges from his room, and agrees to go skiing. Dick jumps at the chance, too delighted see to any problems ahead. 

But. The thing is. 

Jason’s never skiied before in his life, and he’s pretty terrible at it, even when he manages to stay upright for minutes at a time. He moves with all the grace of a wounded swan, huffing and puffing and glaring at Dick the whole time. Dick, of course, is a natural, skimming the surface of the snow but lightly, with preternatural grace. At first, he takes it slow, to stay with Jason, but soon he’s farther ahead, a little forgetful as the crisp mountain air hits sharply against the back of his throat. 

Dick sighs, happy. This is the life. 

Of course, then there’s this monumental crash behind him, and Dick doesn’t even have to turn around to know it’s Jason. No other mound of sticks and snow and skis could be so profane. And And Dick isn’t — he isn’t laughing _at_ Jason as much as he’s laughing at the situation, once he figures out that Jason is basically okay. 

Jason is furious, livid, he looks like he could shoot Dick in the head. And Dick knows that he shouldn’t be laughing, he knows that Jason is a proud kid and — 

The snowball hits him right between the lips. Dick swallow a mouthful of snow, and blinks. Jason smirks, and begins to make more snowballs. Dick takes a deep breath. He isn’t here to yell at Jason. He’s the the adult here. He’s got to be the better man. 

So, he rubs his mouth and says seriously, “Jay, this is snow joking matter.”  
Jason sighs, making another snowball. “You’re such a fucking flake.” 

And Dick scrambles to build his own arsenal, and soon there’s a pitched battle between the two that devolves into playing hide-and-seek among the trees along the ski-trail and peppering each other with sudden, brutal snowball attacks. 

And really, really terrible puns. 

Jason sings out, “It’s the final Snowdown!” as a flurry of snowballs splatter close to his head. 

The thing is, Jason doesn’t fight fair. He secrets pine cones inside some of his snowballs. Dick does fight fair, but he also fights better than Jason. He’s got more experience, after all. 

Somewhere, deep down, Dick relishes it. He knows Jason does too, the kid hasn’t looked this alive since they crossed the Gotham city line.

They both get some good hits in before the collar of Jason’s coat is stuffed with fast-melting snow and Dick has a bruise on his cheek. 

The groundskeeper comes over to yell at them for obscuring the track for other skiers. So it’s either continue — and declare a snow-war on every person on the resort, or call for a truce. And because Dick is the one making the decisions here, a truce it is. 

They gather their stuff and trudge back to the lodge. Jason doesn’t flinch when Dick slings his arm around his shoulders. He seems more reassured (more comfortable) now that Dick has come close to beating the crap out of him, which is more than a little disconcerting for Dick. 

(And familiar in ways he’s not really willing to think about.) 

\+ 

When Dick comes into the lodge’s main hall with two giant mugs of hot chocolate, he’s disappointed (but not exactly surprised) to see that Jason is no longer sitting at their table. In fact, Jason is nowhere to be seen. Dick puts the mugs down on the table, and perks up as he hears the sharp sound of a woman’s laughter above him. He tracks it to floor above where he is, from a balcony that overlooks the main hall. 

Jason is exchanging words with her, looking sly and very satisfied with himself. And she can’t be more than Dick’s age — with dark hair cut severely around her pale face and red, red lips that pull into a deeper smile when she sees Dick stalking towards her. 

“What the _hell_ , Jason,” he snaps, aware that his voice is too loud, that people’s necks are swiveling to their direction. Jason — _pouts_ — and it’s _weird_ , and that shit may work on Bruce (god, _god_ , please let it not work on Bruce) but Dick is unmoved. And mad. He turns to the girl, who is drinking in the scene like it’s some designer cocktail but her enjoyment fades when Dick says, “Ma’am, are you aware that this boy you’re speaking to is fifteen years old?” 

She lets go of Jason’s arm, and makes an embarrassed noise. Dick hauls Jason away. 

“Call me when you’re legal,” she says, giving Jason a sad little wave. 

Jason is grinning hard when they get to the table, which is another thing Dick doesn’t get about this kid. He should be spitting mad, according to his past behavior, but he’s sipping the (newly reordered) hot chocolate and chortling like a little kid. Then his face falls. “She didn’t give me her number.” 

Dick wonders if it’s possible to drown himself in hot chocolate. 

Jason licks off his hot chocolate mustache and eyes Dick speculatively. “ _Relax_ , Dick. I wouldn’t have let her do anything to me. We were just having a conversation, that’s all. Plus, I won’t be fifteen forever, you know.” 

“Jay,” Dick notices the way Jason frowns at the nickname, he’s heard Bruce use it, but — “as long as you’re with me, you’re my responsibility. I can’t have Bruce thinking that I let you go off with a stranger --” 

Jason opens his mouth. 

“You’re _fifteen_ , Jay.”  
“Bruce doesn’t care what I do.” 

Dick wants rush in, to say that _of course_ Bruce cares. (He really does, deep down, several crusty layers deep. Bruce cares, he must care. Dick knows this.) He stutters instead and says awkwardly (but not insincerely) that _he_ cares. 

Jason’s face pulls into a now familiar smirk. He’s got another hot chocolate mustache on his upper lip. “Isn’t this a perfect Hallmark moment.” 

“Shut up, Jay.”  
“Make me, _Dick_.”  
“You know I can.” 

Jason shrugs. He knows. 

\+ 

They’ve loaded everything back into the car when Dick realizes than they need something to remember this moment. He beckons the doorman forward and asks him to hold the camera. The guy smiles at them, Dick looking upright and honest in his plaid-check coat, Jason, dark and slouching in a leather jacket that’s way too light for the cold. 

“You two brothers?” he asks as he snaps the picture. 

Dick grins hugely. Jason scowls. “I’m adopted,” he says, and Dick squeezes his shoulders so hard that it _hurts_. 

The guy takes another picture. 

**II.**

The photo is there, in a plain wooden frame, half-hidden by other photos, those of Dick and the pretender, of Dick and his Titans buddies, Dick and his girlfriends, Dick by himself, grinning at the camera like a handsome lunatic. There aren’t any casual snapshots with Bruce, but then again, Jason doesn’t expect there to be. He eases the photo out of its frame. The surface of it sticks to the glass. The years have degraded the picture’s quality, washing out both of their faces, already Gotham-pale, and making Jason especially look like a ghost. 

But that’s probably just hindsight talking. 

Dick’s apartment had been absurdly easy to break into, once Jason eased off the week or so of intense surveillance he’s run on Dick, Nightwing, Officer Grayson, etc. And it’s not been completely boring so far, even though all Dick seems to do here is swing in at night, grab a bowl of cereal before tumbling into a bed, for a few hours until he wrenches himself out again and staggers around (mostly naked, which Jason doesn’t notice, thanks) until he disappears into the bathroom and again into the bedroom, and then kitchen. He has cereal, again. 

(Jason hates that particular brand. Figures that Grayson would have boxes and boxes of it.) 

Dick then goes off to his dull civilian cover, and Jason goes back to doing his business. 

Except today, he takes a break from Red Hood, scourge of Gotham’s criminal underground, and does something that’s only of interest to Jason Todd, formerly dead sort-of brother to one Dick Grayson. 

(Bruce, and the Manor, of course, are unreachable, and always will be. Not that Jason minds or anything.)

But yeah, the defenses in Dick’s apartment are easily disarmed, though Jason knows that it’s only a matter of time before someone notices a blip in the security and sends someone after him. But he’ll be long gone by then. He switches on a lighter and watches as the photo burns into a light grey ash. 

He hopes it’s not Robin who comes to check things out. Jason breathes deep and is about to get gone when he hears a tiny noise from behind him. He turns and is engulfed in a blur of black and blue. Jason’s elbow jars the table behind him, and an iPod speaker suddenly switches on. Gloria Gaynor begins to blare on the highest volume. “I will _survive!_ ” she cries out into the darkened apartment that is suddenly alive with noise. 

Jason knees his attacker the groin, and even if that’s not enough to make him go down, it’s enough for him to scramble over to the other side of the room, where his jacket is, where his kris lies shining, and deadly, just waiting to be plunged... 

He’s pulled short, and punched in the gut. He’s squirming, _furious_ , as Dick sits on top of his chest. Dick doesn’t waste time asking why Jason isn’t dead anymore, which surprising, somewhat. 

Instead, he presses a hand on Jason’s windpipe, and says, a little unreasonably, “Talk.” 

**III.**

Jason talks. He never had a problem, talking, running his mouth easily enough, a controlled babble about what he’s been up to for these years. Dick doesn’t believe him when he says he dug out of his own grave, but it’s the truth and Jason doesn’t give a _fuck_ about what Dick believes. 

They’ve reached some kind of truce where Jason isn’t going to try to stab Dick, and Dick isn’t going to try to choke Jason, and they take their places on different sides of the room, looking at each other. Jason, warily, Dick... 

He pulls off his mask (Jason winches at the sound of scraping skin against latex) and his eyes are a very watery blue. “You don’t understand, Jay. We were all --” 

“I don’t need to hear this --” 

“We were all devastated by your death. Bruce …” 

“Yeah, no. I’m not interested in hearing how sad Bruce was. He didn’t do shit about it.” 

“That’s not --” 

“ _Fuck you_ , Dick. I know. I’ve been — I’ve seen it.” 

“No, Jay, c’mon. Please.” Dick is inching towards him, and Jason is … He scowls, bares his teeth, yeah, he’s disarmed, but he’s dangerous, he’s good now, he’s better than Dick now (probably), he can kill a man with his bare hands...

“I’ve always wanted to be a good brother to you, Jay,” Dick is saying, which is whatever, _who cares_ , Jason thinks, stiffening because he knows Dick is going in for a hug. 

He does. But he also kisses him. 

So. That was weird. 

Because Jason kisses him back. 

\+ 

“How in the fuck is that being a good brother?” Jason’s voice is breathy and — _excited_ , shit, he shouldn’t be so excited, or tugging at Dick’s costume like he wants to take it off. This is worse than that time with Talia. Sex and everything that goes with it is a weakness, and Jason hates it when when his weaknesses show. 

“Um. I have confused feelings about family.” Dick has the grace to look embarrassed. 

“Well. This has been. Confusing is a good word for it.” Jason gets up and dusts his pants, and opens the window and ducks out. “See you around, Grayson, you incestuous nutsack.” 

“See ya, Jay.” 

Dick buries his head in his hands. 

 

**IV.**

Months pass and lots of improbable, impossible things happen. Aliens attack, again. The world almost ends, again. The Black Canary and the Green Arrow break up, again. The last one isn’t impossible or improbable, it just happens around the same time. 

But the most improbable, impossible thing that happens is the redemption of Jason Todd, the Red Hood, formerly dead boy wonder (the one with the legs) by Nightwing, former boy wonder (the one with the ass, but that came later.) Jason is taken once again into the loving bosom of his family, and decides that maybe killing people isn't the best thing to do, actually, and everyone is happy, except the Joker, who is run over by a truck. 

(He survives, of course.) 

Wait. _No._

None of that happens. What does happen is this -- months of stalemate, of broken promises, and Nightwing chasing Red Hood all over town, up the streets and down the alleys. Because Nightwing is going to _do_ this, damn it. He’s going to make good on Red Hood. Whether the Red Hood wants it or not. And sometimes, yeah, that means even stopping crime. (Sometimes stopping crime together.) There’s no real progress. 

One step forward, two steps back. 

And then Jason breaks into Dick’s apartment again, and this time Dick is ready for him. “You could use the front door, you know,” he says, as Jason slips in. Jason freezes where he is — his left leg dripping rainwater onto the hardwood floors. 

“Um. Hey.” Jason squeezes himself through the window. He’s a pretty big guy now, and Dick steps back to watch. Jason say, hopefully, “I brought us a DVD to watch?” 

Dick narrows his eyes (he doesn’t get a mop) and says, “Which one?”  
“ _Mean Girls_.” 

\+ 

Turns out that Jason is a _big_ fan of Lindsay Lohan, which doesn’t actually come as that much of a surprise. “She’s just so misunderstood,” he says, with obvious emotion. Dick coughs to cover his laughter. Jason’s elbow digs into his ribs. “So misunderstood.” 

\+ 

 

Later, Dick turns to Jason and says, “You _are_ a less hot version of me.”  
Jason turns off the DVD and says, cheerfully, “Fuck you. That’s not true. At all.” 

 

\+ 

The thing is. Jason needs this, needs love (and pity) and Dick has more than enough of both to spare. It’s not like Dick means to do this, with Jason, because he doesn’t, he doesn’t, really (honest, scout’s honor, though Dick has never been a Boy Scout), except yeah, when they run into each other, they end up fighting (first) and then fucking (second). 

It’s the kind of thing that puts them both on the outs with the family. But Jason doesn’t care, much, so he doesn’t stop, and Dick cares too much, but can’t stop. 

Dick feels so tired tonight. He doesn’t want to fight. The television screen casts a lurid blue light on them both, and Jason’s eyes are very blue and very wide. He smiles at Dick, very sweetly (and very deceptively) and Dick feels something inside him loosen and change. He leans in against Jason, lips almost grazing his ear. “You could stay the night.” 

There’s a strange gleam in Jason’s eyes. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll _do_ something?”  
“I can take you.”  
“Huh. I don’t know about that, old man.”  
“Wanna bet?” 

Dick _hadn’t_ felt like fighting tonight...

\+ 

Why do they _always_ end up fighting? 

Jason hisses, “So how do you like that Bruce loves that little freak more than he does you?”

Dick wheezes, trying not notice how much his lungs ache.“Jay, your obsession with Tim is just a little sad.” Jason’s mouth is bloody and curls up in a bitter line. “Lots of things about my life are a little sad.” 

“Oh boo _fucking_ hoo.” 

And Jason tackles him again. 

\+ 

Jason’s hair smells like smoke and the shampoo he’s been stealing from Dick and refuses to buy for himself. Somehow, dying and coming back has made Jason’s curly hair straight (look, Dick doesn’t know how the magic of resurrection works) — either that or Jason seriously straightens his hair out everyday. Dick has a handful of it, and he pulls Jason’s head back and settles on top of him. Jason gives him a dreamy, approving look that can only mean that Dick is going to be (painfully) on his own back pretty soon, but for now he grinds down on top of Jason. 

“Jay.” If there was a way to make Jason understand what he meant. To them. To Dick. If Jason could just see. But Dick’s whole body has always been more eloquent than his tongue, and if he can’t speak about how he feels (and what Jason should know), well, Dick is just going to have to _show_ him. 

He’s squeezing Jason’s thighs like he’s trying to reassure himself that Jason is actually here, alive and breathing, hot and living and not some ghostly reminder of Dick’s own failures. Jason’s smile flickers, as if he guesses what Dick’s thinking. He catches Dick’s hands and squeezes back. 

In a low voice that Dick strains to hear (Jason is always loud, always, but), “I won’t be a poster boy, Dick. Not for for anything, not anymore.” His grip is painful, and they stare at each other for a long time before Dick gets up, slowly. His limbs protest, and he knows there’s going to be bruises in the morning. 

Jason sits on Dick’s (now dirty) couch, staring straight ahead of him. Dick waits for a few more minutes for Jason to follow. When Jason doesn’t come, Dick hauls him up. There’s a silent argument between them — whether Jason should stay or go, but it ends with both of them stumbling and tripping over themselves to get to Dick’s bedroom. 

Dick’s bedroom looks like a clothes-bomb has exploded in it, the floor is covered with discarded shirts and jeans, and pieces of his Nightwing costume. Jason suspects that Dick still depends on Alfred to do his laundry for him, but he really can’t throw any stones. 

When Jason gets blood on his clothes, he incinerates them and buys new ones. 

Their clothes, ripped and stained already, join the others on the floor. Dick can’t — _hasn’t_ — slept with anyone but capes for a long time. The scars are hard to explain, without sounding like lies Dick tells, to cover some horrific abuse in his past.

(Which is _true_ , but not exactly in that way.) 

He rubs the scar on Jason’s neck thoughtfully. 

Jason’s different. He’s only been with two other people. They’re the ones who gave him most of his scars. 

\+ 

Dick’s got Jason’s teeth marks on his skin. It’s not gentle, or especially loving, what they do to each other. It’s just that they’ve discovered that hurting each other just works better when they’re naked and grappling together, hot breath on each other’s faces, mouths merciless and without remorse. Jason thrusts into Dick like he’s the knife, Dick cries out like he’s wounded. It’s simple. It’s the rules. They’re not doing this for love. Not for that. 

But it’s so easy to slip (Dick slips too easily) to something more (or less) than what’ve they agreed to — afterwards, when everything is soft and mellow, it’s easy to brush back the sweat-soaked curls from Jason’s face. To be tender, just for a moment. Because Jason’s at rest, and that’s the only time he allows himself to be held. 

But then his eyes pop open, and he shows his teeth and Dick finds himself taking another dive, whispering into Jason’s heated skin that _this isn’t love, little brother, don’t worry about that._

 

\+ 

 

Jason splits a few hours afterwards, leaves Dick sprawled on his back. Light filters in dimly through the curtains, and he grabs the closest pair of jeans he can find. It belongs to Dick, of course it does, and so Jason is left smarting a little as he pours himself into a pair of jeans two sizes too small. Dick is waking up, turning towards the source of the noise. 

His boots he finds crammed in the corner next to an abandoned tower of pizza boxes. He can’t find his socks, so he goes without. 

Jason snatches a t-shirt (a plain white tee) and pulls it over his head. He cracks open the window when he hears a stifled yawn coming from bed. “Use the front door next time.” And then the bed shakes with a bone-cracking yawn.

“Sure thing, Nightwang.” 

The sky outside is low slung and grey, full of clouds. It starts to snow over the still-darkened city, and Jason swings down the firescape, light on his feet. The snow’s heavier when he reaches the alley-way where he’s stashed the bike, and he whistles as he disengages the alarm. Fat flakes of snow drift down to the alley, getting into his hair and eyes, until he puts his helmet on.

Soon, he’s got the the engine sputtering to life, and he pulls away from the curb. The wheels make a bold, black line against the white carpeted road. 

 

He heads off, like a comet, like a shot, like a dagger to the heart, to Gotham. He leaves Blüdhaven (and Dick) to the snow, and to sleep. 

Jason Todd’s got _shit_ to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Someday, I will write a story about how Jason Todd (dead boy wonder) really was dead from the late eighties to the mid-two-thousands, missing as it were, a whole chunk of what made the present _the present_. This is not that story.    
>  However, the first segment is set vaguely in the eighties (Dick’s car has a cassette player! Dick is not wearing plaid at all ironically! But then again, Dick wouldn't wear anything ironically, at whatever time.) The other segments are set in the present day. (Dick’s apartment has those iPod dock things that do not work as described here!)    
> Both Dick and Jason are older and vaguely achy, as is only right. And Jason and Dick going skiing together before Jason’s death is canon, or used to be. I’m not sure I know what’s canon anymore.   
> Title and epithet comes Iron & Wine's "The Trapeze Swinger" which is such a Dick/Jason song. Or at least a Dick song. 


End file.
